Providence © NADINE CRABTREE
The ancient Volkswagon-combi shuddered to a halt. Maria peered through the dusty windscreen at the neat house which it was above and beyond anticipated - an orderly house with neat symmetrical gardens - but why so cheap?
Maria's life was a string of daunting disappointments falling one upon the other, declining to a base of emotional poverty over which she had no control.
Thirty eight years of life left Maria feeling wedged into a bottomless pit of defeat. Her first husband left her for a younger woman whom, she had to admit albeit grudgingly, was a magnificent creature. In comparison - Maria was a dumpy housewife, although realistically - there was no comparison.
Her second husband was everything her first was not. Considerate, loving, kind and faithful. She wrapped herself in the gauzy warmth of his love, nurturing it as though it were a precious flower - only to have it snatched away after nine short months through a particularly harrowing and painful illness through which her husband suffered with fortitude.
Maria was two months pregnant at the time of her second husband's death. The pregnancy she kept to herself. His suffering would be twofold had he known about the child she carried. She looked forward to the birth of the baby, hoping this new life would help marginally to overcome the bitterness and frustration of loss - looking forward - not back - deciding to build a bright future for the unborn child.
Then tragedy again! After thirty hours of excruciating labour, her baby was delivered stillborn. The shock and trauma took its toll and Maria spent three months under constant Psychiatric care. At the end of this period she was ejected from the institution and returned home - ostensibly with a clean bill of health.
The daily task of living she likened to a void. She had a sister, and many friends. Good and kind friends. But even their loving care and attention could never assuage the torment besetting her waking hours. Her sister pressed her to sell up and move in with her, but Maria didn't wish to become a burden - so the daily struggle to live continued.
It was little more than a year later when Maria nursed her sister through cancer and attending therapies - none of which could save her. This was the catalyst - the final straw. Life was hell - something to be endured - why not put an end to it? She decided unequivocally that now was the time to leave everything and everyone behind that reminded her of her former life. She placed her house in the hands of an Agent. The house sold readily. There was nothing she wished to retain and everything was auctioned, down to the last pot plant on the verandah.
Maria pushed at the combi's door which squealed when opened. The trip from the city was longer than expected, but journey's end led to this surprisingly welcome country retreat. The advertisement glorified the property, using innuendo of 'oldie worlde’ character and 'a peaceful haven'.
Maria studied the property warily. The exterior held promise and she had to agree that the advert summed up the place perfectly, although using the low price as a benchmark, she expected something akin to a chicken shed.
The house was set within manicured gardens and bordered, as far as the eye could see, by gently undulating paddocks leading to the foothills of distant blue grey mountains.
Maria felt something she had not felt for years. A sense of wellbeing - belonging! A sense of purpose.
For the viewing, the Agent, through pressure of work, had begged off accompanying her, entrusting her with the key - avowing she could view the property at leisure. He explained the property was subject to a long Probate, which had lately been finalised, allowing the sale to proceed. There were other interested purchasers, but most found the property far too isolated and in need of drastic overhaul, giving it a cursory viewing only.
Maria knocked loudly - the house was purportedly empty and yet it held an air of constant attention. Perhaps there was a tenant which the Agent omitted to mention? Her knock received no answer, so inserted the large key and pushed the oak paneled front door wide - allowing the filtered sunlight to trickle through the aperture into a spotless hall. A welcoming odour of wax drifted to greet her but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was intruding.
After calling out and listening, apart from the light breeze stirring the overhanging oak branches, there was no response.
Moving about on tiptoe, she entered a formal sitting room, a dining room and behind that a rather old fashioned but scrupulously clean kitchen opposite which was a child's nursery. As she fingered the items of toys, and placed a hand on the cradle she couldn't help but remember her own tragic loss. Tears sprang to her eyes which she angrily brushed away before moving down the hall to the quaint bathroom.
Then the emotion of hope lifted her as she glanced into a bedroom furnished in cream. The next room was decorated in pale blue paisley with white trim. Every room was tastefully decorated with meticulous attention to detail.
Maria returned to the front door and frowned. In her opinion and from the state of the house, the asking price was outrageously low. Surely the Agent must have made a mistake?
Moving out onto the verandah, her attention focused on the rear of the house. Row upon row of thriving vegetables grew in weed free soil. Maria picked up a handful of dirt and idly crushed it between her fingers, allowing the damp fertile earth to assail her senses.
At the end of the vegetable patch stood an old hay barn. She viewed the surrounding paddocks, hoping to catch sight of the custodian of this property but saw no-one. The barn housed a few ancient well preserved pieces of farming equipment - bales of sweet smelling hay and gardening implements. The stairs to the loft were off to her left.
Maria frowned. There was something odd about the place. She wandered down the opposite side of the house. As she stepped onto the verandah, Maria came face to face with an elderly woman who held a basket of freshly cut flowers. "Good God!" Maria exclaimed. Her heart pounded at the sudden encounter.
"Hello my dear - we didn't mean to afright you!" The woman smiled up at Maria not in the least perturbed by the sudden presence of a prowling stranger.
Maria remained mute - shocked by the experience.
"Lookin' round the old place then?" The woman asked kindly.
"Well yes, but the Agent said no-one lived here...." Her voice trailed off.
Maria discerned a foreign burr in the woman's speech but apart from the initial fright, the woman seemed kindly.
"Did he well”? The elderly woman grinned. "Got the kettle on - fancy you'd welcome a cup of tea after travellin' such a distance?" She turned and led Maria across the verandah, carefully wiping her feet on the door mat. Maria followed her example. The woman scurried down the hall and turned into the kitchen, placed the blooms on the table and lifted down a vase from the long dresser.
In the time it takes a thought to incubate, Maria had the oddest sensation; something akin to being drawn into the kitchen of Mrs Tiggywinkle. She expected the woman to have protruding spikes instead of hair and to begin ironing handkerchiefs. Maria dismissed the thought immediately with a hidden grin.
"Do you own the house?" Maria asked casually.
"Aye - built by the family - course them've all gone now. Just me and Danny." She nodded and swilled boiling water around a fragile china teapot.
"Danny?" Surprise tinged Maria's query.
"Aye lass. Danny, my youngest. Good boy around the place, but won't talk to them he don't like." The old woman nodded sadly. "Don't come out 'til he feels right with people!"
Maria sat at the table and took the cup her hostess offered, then helped herself to milk from the jug. "It must be sad that you have to sell?" Maria announced spontaneously, looking around the kitchen which contained polished copper saucepans, a huge dresser adorned with ancient plates, cups and saucers and lovely antique table and chairs.
"Time moves on lovely." The old lady answered. "Us can't stay forever - not yet anyway."
"Where are you moving?" Maria savoured the best cup of tea she had tasted in ages.
"Home." The old woman nodded happily.
"Do you have relatives there?" Maria sipped the tea.
"Aye. Hunnerds of them." The elderly woman sat opposite Maria and chortled. "Would you be liftin' the shortbread down my dear?"
Maria left the table, and as though she had been in this kitchen a thousand times, carefully removed an octagonal tin from the dresser, handed it to her hostess who arranged six of the biscuits on a plate.
The pair chatted together about gardening, the weather, the country way of life and recipes. Maria was loath to leave either her hostess or the house, but excused herself asking if she might return to have another look tomorrow. "Of course. Come you back anytime my dear. This old house needs a special body to care for it." Her brown eyes twinkled as Maria waved goodbye, leaving the woman on the verandah.
Ten minutes later Maria pulled up in front of the town store and asked for the Estate Agent Mr. Balcombe. She was directed to the village hall where he was busy setting out chairs for the annual Scout and Guide Concert.
"Aha! There you are Mrs. Crawford - how did you like it. Plenty to do - not too far out - although a man would come in handy no doubt? You are alone I take it?"
Maria handed him the key. "The house is perfect, but why so cheap?"
Mr. Balcombe stopped heaving at chairs and frowned. "Perfect isn't the term I'd use in this particular instance, and as for cheap, well yes, but then you'd be shelling out a bit to bring it up to scratch wouldn't you?"
She shrugged. "We are on the same wavelength Mr. Balcombe? We are talking about 'Providence Cottage'?
"That's the one - out on Cavendish Road. The old run down place, some say it’s haunted, but of course that's rubbish."
Maria frowned and sat on one of the chairs. "Providence Cottage is anything but run down Mr. Balcombe."
He left the chairs and sat next to Maria. "That old place hasn't seen a human soul for twenty years apart from the four people I personally escorted out there - are you sure you found the right house?"
Maria viewed the ancient heavy key Mr. Balcombe held in his hand. "This is the key isn't it?"
"Certainly is. The first house on the left twenty k's from the Winton turnoff. Got a long winding drive and my 'For Sale' sign on the front fence?" Maria nodded in acknowledgement. "What's the history of the place do you know’?
"A family by the name of O'Donaghy built it way back in eighteen seventy. Sad life - my great grandfather remembered the family or what was left of them. Came out from Ireland - had five or six children. There was a fire and five were burned alive. The husband was killed trying to save them. Horrible death. One child survived. Caused quite a stir - there was a long editorial about it in the local rag - I've got it somewhere at home."
Maria blanched. "Do you remember the child's name?"
Mr. Balcombe discerned dismay on Maria's face and bent toward her. "Daniel. He was a cripple or deaf or something. Its all in the newspaper if you're interested."
"How long ago did you say this happened?" Maria felt as though a brick landed in the pit of her stomach.
"Let me see....must have been around eighteen eighty four or five." Mr.
Balcombe rubbed his nose trying to remember the exact date.
"And no one lives there...I mean there are no tenants. None of the family live there at present?"
"No - not in the immediate past. There was a family there back in the seventies but they left because..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"...because?" Maria waited for an explanation.
"Rumours, just silly rumours. You know how these stories get about."
He laughed and shrugged off the unlikely episode.
"Mr. Balcombe. Would you come back to the house with me? Now please?" Maria glanced obliquely at the Agent, her voice held more than a smidgeon of urgency.
"Certainly but why the hurry, surely tomorrow...?" He knew his query to be a waste of breath.
"Today please. Now. It really is important to me." Maria was visibly shaken by the conversation.
"Have you seen something out there?" Mr. Balcombe felt a peculiar sensation as he asked the question.
"Something and someone. There was an old lady, she made me a cup of tea, said she had a son who was mute..." The words rushed from Maria's lips. "...said the place needed someone to look after it."
Mr Balcombe shook his head. Obviously this woman was not quite the full quid. He didn't believe in ghosts or anything remotely similar, but if it meant a sale, then he would oblige and accompany her back to the cottage. "If it makes you happy we shall visit today." He looked at his watch and sighed. "Can't be more than an hour. Got to finish this."
Maria led the way but Mr. Balcombe held open his car door for her and they sped along the quiet country roads in silence. Mr. Balcombe slowed as he reached the entrance to the long drive and turned in. The house loomed into view. It was definitely not the house Maria visited earlier. The roof was caved in and the verandah posts collapsed under the weight. Flowers were trying their best to survive in the overgrown jungle which she had seen as a neat garden less than an hour ago.
She ran from the car as Mr. Balcombe stopped, racing down the side of the house then stopped short. The barn had disappeared. The vegetable patch was a thicket of briars and weeds and the ground was solid. As her eyes focused on the neglected area her heart sank. Another disappointment - and yet this was not the way she had seen it. It was a haven to be loved. Maria brushed angrily at the brimming tears and got back in the car. "Thanks." She murmured.
"Are you ready to go back?" Mr. Balcombe stood outside the car, viewing the forsaken property. He could understand why nobody would want to buy it. The place needed a small fortune spent on it.
"Yes." Maria hid her gloom as they motored back to town. She thanked Mr. Balcombe for his trouble and started the combi's motor, angrily turned the van around but instead of heading toward the city, she stopped at the crossroad, turning left into Cavendish Road. For sanity's sake she had to make absolutely sure that the house really was a disaster.
Turning again into the drive, Maria drove slowly until the house came into view. The garden was a riot of colour, the house shone with care and attention. The elderly woman stood on the doorstep, beckoning to Maria. Behind her stood a man in his early forties who surveyed her coyly.
Maria alighted from the van, the man stepped forward, holding out his large work worn hand in greeting. Maria sought some measure of understanding of the strange situation while casting her mind around for a rational explanation while allowing the pleasurable moment to continue as long as possible.
The old lady came up to them and smiled at Maria. "You said you'd come back and me and Danny knew as you would. Come in my dear and leave your troubles on the doorstep." The man held her arm and followed the old woman into the house, carefully brushing his feet on the door mat.
The lady heated the familiar pot. Danny held out a chair for Maria. "You found your home now Maria. Is that right?" He murmured. "Danny....?" She looked at the gentle dark features unable to explain how he knew her name - she had introduced herself to his mother as Mrs Crawford.
"That's right. Danny O'Donaghy. My Ma and me wondered if you'd be needing a bit of a hand around the house. Ma's goin' home you see, but it ain't my time just yet so if you've a mind..."
Maria stared spellbound at the pair.
"...I'd be no trouble 'nor nuthin'. Do the garden for my keep and all." Maria nodded. "If that’s what you want?" She whispered, hardly daring to believe this as reality.
"Been waitin' such a long time haven't us Ma?" His dark blue eyes twinkled at his mother.
"That's right my lovely and now you'm all be a settled, it'll be time for me to get where I belong."
After the strange interaction with Maria and the cottage, Mr. Balcombe tried without success to sell the property. Each time he returned it seemed more dilapidated. He often wondered what happened to the strange Mrs Crawford. The Police found her old VW-combi in the drive of the house, but no body or signs of violence. It was as if she disappeared into thin air.
End
